


Infallible Ways

by prairiecrow



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-19
Updated: 2011-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak is even colder than usual. Bashir proposes a solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infallible Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Set almost four months after the events of "The Wire".

Garak closed and locked the top drawer of his desk on two PADDs he'd just placed within it and looked up, surveying his quarters critically. Everything was immaculate, but tonight other eyes than his would be seeing his possessions and he was acutely aware of the placement of each item. As usual the room was both too bright and too cold. No doubt his Human visitor would find those aspects exactly to his taste.

He did not particularly want Bashir in his personal space: the last time the Doctor had paid him a visit he'd ended up attacking the man, after all. But that had been months ago, and he had to admit that lately the stillness and the silence had been weighing heavily upon him. He sighed under his breath, mentally cursing the travails of  _l'ross topor_  that made him so unduly sensitive to small annoyances, and then smiling in self-mockery. One had as well protest  _l'ross topor_  as the rising of the Cardassian sun. Both were equally inevitable.

Cardassian males, not unlike Terran females, underwent cyclical hormonal fluctuations that could affect their mood and sense of physical wellbeing. With the endorphin rush of the implant he'd been able to sail through past episodes without care, but now… well, without that chemical crutch to lean upon he found himself keenly aware of just how cold the station actually was and how that chill seemed to sink itself into his muscles and bones, inflicting several days worth of suffering and making arising each morning a thoroughly unpleasant task. This was his third  _l'ross topor_  since the deactivation and it promised to be just as miserable as the previous two. He always tried to cultivate an attitude of optimism — for a man in his position it was an essential endeavour — but at this particular moment he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed under a couple of hot blankets and try to find refuge in increasingly elusive sleep. This enemy station, after all, had no diversion capable of alleviating his loneliness and his pain, his consciousness of being trapped in a cell too small to contain him.

Ah, well. When Bashir had offered — insisted, really — on coming by this evening to discuss the stiffness he'd noticed in Garak's bearing over the past three days, Garak had strongly suggested that he might not find his Cardassian friend in the most amiable of moods. But the Human was both idealistic and earnest enough to have disregarded the warning, and Garak had already seen how implacable he could be when he scented a medical mystery. Best to get the Doctor's questions out of the way as quickly as possible, convince him that there was nothing more to be done, and send him on his way, satisfied or not. Perhaps just feeling that he'd given helping Garak a good try would be enough to dissuade him from pursuing the issue. 

In this case it might help that the truth was for once on Garak's side.  _L'ross topor_  was not amenable to any chemical treatments that he was inclined to share with a Starfleet medical officer, although a glass or two of kanar had an appreciable calming effect. He hadn't taken a drink this evening — yet. He wanted his mind to be perfectly clear and sharp, the better to manipulate Bashir into more considerate behaviour and then out the door. Then… ah, then he'd indulge himself, and perhaps tonight the radiant heat of the blankets would actually make a difference. Even if it didn't he'd have to make a conscious effort to move with perfect fluidity tomorrow; it was amazing, really, that Bashir had noticed anything at all. Garak was convinced that he'd concealed his torpor and stiffness well enough to fool a casual observer. 

He smiled again, this time bitterly, remembering how quickly Bashir had picked up on his physical condition when the implant began to inflict its waves of pain. Evidently the Human was keeping a more-than-casual eye on him these days. That was an inconvenience he'd have to find some way to deal with —

— when the door chime wasn't sounding, heralding the arrival of his unwanted guest. Garak affected a welcoming smile and went to answer it. Annoyance was never an excuse for neglecting one's manners.

********************

 _L'ross topor_  had the unfortunate effect of heightening all of one's senses — and many of one's appetites, acceptable or not. Looking down at Bashir seated in the middle of his couch as he handed him a cup of Tarkalean tea (hot, double sweet), Garak felt secret fire writhe up his spine, kindling the desire to strip that hideous uniform off the Human's slender frame and explore with his hands and his mouth every inch of smooth golden skin thus revealed. He let none of that hunger reach his eyes or his voice, of course. It was a deception which he'd perfected from necessity and long practice.

Bashir accepted the drink with a nod and a smile and a murmured "Thanks," taking a sip of it as Garak arranged himself at the end of the couch less than half a meter away, turning just enough to face the Human at a three-quarters angle. He leaned back against the miroleather surface and cradled a cup of red leaf tea in both hands, savouring the warmth against his fingers and levelling a look of bland interest at his friend. The Doctor had brought along a PADD and a medical tricorder; both rested on the coffee table, and their presence made Garak sigh silently to himself. If Bashir planned to be here long enough to take notes and do some scans…

Perhaps Bashir picked up on his reaction, for he didn't waste time making idle conversation. Instead he set down his tea and picked up the PADD, keying it on and tapping at the interface, which he studied as he spoke: "I thought you might prefer having this conversation here rather than in the Infirmary." A glance of those dark eyes and a quick smile. "I know how much you value your privacy."

 _Not enough to leave me well enough alone,_  Garak thought, but he smiled pleasantly. "Really, Doctor, this isn't necessary. I'm quite —"

"— well?" Bashir shook his head, impatience tightening his finely drawn eyebrows. "We've been through this before, Garak. And you're certainly  _not_ well. This isn't the first time you've exhibited these symptoms, and they seem to occur with a set periodicity of thirty-six days." Apparently satisfied with what was on the PADD, he set it down and picked up the tricorder, slipping the handheld scanner out of it and making a pass over Garak's body from forehead to groin with the ease and grace of a magician performing a well-known trick. His eyes now fixed on the readings, he brought the scanner back to Garak's temple and began a more thorough examination. "And to be worse in the mornings. It's something hormonal, isn't it?"

"Whatever would lead you to that conclusion?" Garak was genuinely curious.

"The set periodicity, for one thing. And your scales changing color, for another."

Garak nearly winced. Bashir had been paying extremely close attention if he'd noticed the subtle darkening of his neck ridges for a few days out of each cycle.  _The erectile tissues underlying them are also much more sensitive, my dear… but thankfully you have no way of knowing_  that  _little detail, do you?_

"Now," Bashir continued, still conducting his scan with his attention focussed on the tricorder, "are you going to tell me what's going on, or do I have to figure it out for myself?"

That made Garak smile. He let equal amounts of resentment and amusement flash through it. "My dear Doctor, you should know better by now than to expect easy answers from me. Nor would you appreciate them even if you got them." 

Now Bashir looked at him, solemn and concerned with an element of exasperation. "Is it a cultural issue?" he asked. "Something that your people don't feel comfortable talking about? I'm a physician — surely you can tell me."

"No and no," Garak replied, although the second was at least half a lie.  _L'ross topor_  was something that no Cardassian male of any status would admit to suffering, although arguably Garak himself was now a male of low to no status. "And no," he added with a sly quirk of his lips, reflecting on how the mighty had fallen. 

The scanner was hovering over Garak's belly now, and Bashir's look of exasperation was tempered with fondness. "I'm here to help you," he said patiently. Something on the tricorder caught his attention, and he frowned at the readings. Garak let no trace of true reaction escape, although he did cock his head a little to one side and widened his smile fractionally. He knew what Bashir had just seen: the pair of small glands just below his liver that were now larger and more active than they'd been the last time he'd been imprisoned in the Infirmary. For a moment he thought that Bashir was actually going to ask what they were and what they were for, but instead the Human posed a question more likely to get a straight answer: "Is your condition dangerous?"

Garak briefly pondered at least three lies he could spin off that query, but he settled for offering a form of the truth. "No. Merely…"

Bashir's glance was almost pleading this time. Something in his expression was inexplicably compelling: he was so sincere and so innocent, for Garak had never had anyone who knew anything about him look at him that way, with compassion and affection and the clear desire to help him rather than to harm him. He blamed the  _l'ross topor_  when he chose to continue: "Merely unpleasant. I assure you, Doctor, that there's nothing you can do for me."

"I've heard  _that_  before," Bashir deadpanned, returning his attention to the tricorder. "And you were wrong."

 _I never expected you to risk your life on my behalf._  The memory made the sensual tongue of flame, which had retreated to the base of his spine but never entirely faded, flare and spread up into his chest. It would be very easy to reach out, curve his hand around the sculpted line of that unadorned jaw, and draw Bashir to him; it would be utter suicide to kiss those inviting lips that never suspected how enticing they were to him. Garak sidestepped the impulse, glad that Bashir was looking elsewhere than at his face. "In this case I'm certain of it."

"Well, I'm not." He was so young and so convinced of his own infallibility that Garak felt a brief surge of nostalgia for a state of mind he'd never personally known. "What symptoms have you been experiencing? You're not moving as easily as you usually do. Are you in pain?"

"No." Not true, but the truth would only encourage him to pry.

"Then what's inhibiting your range of motion?"

A sudden flare of irritation sharpened Garak's voice before he could conceal it. "The cold, if you must know."

That gave Bashir brief pause. Another flash of his hazel eyes, oddly tender. Somehow that only annoyed Garak even more. "You're more sensitive to it than is usually the case?"

Garak sat back a little and tightened his hold on his cup of tea, seeking its rapidly fading heat. "How perceptive of you," he said wryly. 

After passing the scanner down to the Cardassian's knees, Bashir slotted it back into the tricorder and exchanged them both for the PADD. He started to key data into the device. "Well, that I can help with. I know you habitually wear a thermal undershirt — I advise you to use one with a higher insulation rating, if you haven't changed up already. And a heating blanket while you sleep will —"

"I have a cold weather survival blanket which generates quite a bit of heat," Garak interjected, growing more weary and impatient with this exercise by the microsecond. When had the room gotten even colder, the lights even brighter? Even the Doctor's pretty face couldn't compensate for the impertinence of his presumption. Garak let a threatening note of finality enter his tone. "I find it suits my needs admirably. Now, if you'll —"

"But obviously not well enough," Bashir continued, evidently unperturbed by his implied rebuke, "not if you're still stiff in the mornings." He looked over whatever was on his PADD's screen, then up at Garak through his dark lashes. "I recommend a more dynamic heat source." He paused, his gaze level and intent. "Something biometric. I think you'll find that's far more effective."

The pattern of words stopped the progress of Garak's anger dead in its tracks. He almost blinked at the Starfleet officer, surprised by what might — or might not — be a proposition. Bashir was still gazing at him with those remarkable hazel eyes, no hint of a smile on his full lips, but there was an quality in his expression that Garak had never seen there before, and he'd been watching the young Human closely since first setting eyes on him. 

A quality of definite interest. And undeniable hope.

On second thought, he'd seen that expression many times before on that youthful face — but never directed at  _him_.

For an instant Garak wondered if  _l'ross topor_  had temporarily unseated his reason. Bashir  _couldn't_  be flirting with him, much less suggesting… 

His heart rate leaped. He was glad that Bashir had put away that tricorder, although he still couldn't control the way his ridges must be starting to darken even further. Would the Human know what that meant? He couldn't. But he might eventually learn, if —

The thought was fascinating and lethal. There was true danger in this moment, a razor's edge that even a trained member of the Obsidian Order recognized as too hazardous to contemplate. He had to get Bashir out of here. An explosion of rage might drive him off — or it might pull him in even deeper, as past experience had proven. Garak considered and rejected that option… and alas, curiosity had always been one of his worst failings. He couldn't resist testing this game of words.

"While I appreciate your offer —" A delicate pause. "— of such excellent advice, I've found that such amenities are rather difficult to obtain. Particularly here."

Bashir didn't miss a beat. "And what if I told you that I know of a treatment I'd highly recommend?" A glance down, then up again, his pointed chin rising slightly as if in challenge. "One I'll personally guarantee, in fact, and whose administration I'll personally oversee."

Now  _that_  was blatant to the point of being gauche, but Garak was inclined to forgive him for it. He affected a disinterested pose, freeing his right hand from the warm cup to place it closer to Bashir, on his own right knee. Casually he remarked: "Such… items… also tend to be very expensive to maintain."

"I think you'd find that it's worth the time and trouble." Still gazing directly into Garak's eyes, Bashir set the PADD back on the table, his left hand advancing to cover Garak's right. A smooth and gracefully executed tactic: really, one had to admire the subtlety of a surgeon's touch. "And I promise you, you'll sleep much better."

"Has it been that obvious?" He heard himself ask the question gently, distracted by how willingly Bashir had both set a trap and walked into one, and by the heat of the Human's skin sliding against his own. Such warmth, lively and yearning. It seemed to infuse his flesh, driving the cold of the room from his joints, freeing him from the static tyranny of his spacebound prison. Promising growth instead of stagnation. He had the presence of mind to be afraid. "I must be losing my touch."

Bashir leaned a little closer, speaking softly and suggestively as his elegant fingertips rose to trace the double line of scales running down from Garak's left ear. "Will you let me be the judge of that... Elim?"

Garak very nearly hissed at the intimate contact and the use of a name he'd abandoned along with his hopes for the future. As he moved toward to the heat in Bashir's hooded eyes he wondered exactly when this naive young man had figured out that the combined promise of warmth and wordplay were infallible ways into an exiled Cardassian's heart.

THE END


End file.
